


Goldene Zeiten

by Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)



Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, matthew is a genius but only when hes high on caffeine, only at the end tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/pseuds/Cardinal_Sin
Summary: Matthew writes a song - maybe as a joke, even - and it becomes hugely popular. Mostly thanks to Falk, who will take any chance to embarrass Matthew in front of the others.





	Goldene Zeiten

Falk wakes up to an empty bed, which, in and of itself, wouldn't necessarily be a bad sign considering he and Matthew don't live together. It _is_ bad though, because it's one of the few nights they get to spend together and Matthew had promised he would at least stay in bed even if sleep eluded him.

Apparently though, Matthew Greywolf is a big fat liar and he's going to get yelled at by a _very grumpy_ organist. _There are worse ways to spend my time at_ – glance at the digital alarm clock – _three forty-three in the morning_ , Falk supposes, climbing out of bed. He proceeds to trip over the pair of jeans Matthew (or he) had left at the foot of the bed, curses, and finally manages to enter the living room.

Matthew is sitting there, on the ugly carpet, face buried in his arms resting on the coffee table. His hair is a lovely mess and he's obviously asleep. Falk can't help but smile at the sight, and does so exactly until he spots the empty mug and the crumpled sheets of paper. Matthew had promised not to do this.

He walks over there, ready to shake Matthew awake, but something inside him – his conscience????? – tells him to stop. He does, but he's not a saint so instead he picks up a few sheets and tries to make out what the scribbly notes say.

They're song lyrics, that much is obvious, and there are a few that sound genuinely good to Falk. This is a rare occurrence because Matthew's poetic brain stops functioning after more than eighteen hours of wakefulness. The other possible explanation is that, as Matthew likes to put it – not without assuring Falk of his undying love – Falk is a fancy bitch.

But then – then Falk turns over a page and starts reading the haphazard notes on that side. His eyes widen – he knows this because they always do before he starts laughing – and he _tries_ to hold it back but he really can't, and he is soon collapsed at Matthew's side, shaking from laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Matthew wakes up, blinking first blearily, then shortly after rather angrily, and tears at the papers in Falk's hands.

"You know I hate it when you read my notes!" He rasps, glaring intently. Oh, Falk loves how Matthew's voice needs at least half an hour and tea to start functioning again.

He tries to act somewhat apologetic, but then he remembers the – admittedly catchy – lyrics and he almost starts crying again.

"I'm sorry babe," he wheezes, leaning his back against the coffee table for support. Matthew's pout really is the icing on top. "I didn't mean to upset you, I was just-" wheeze "curious!"  
Matthew glares.

"I mean, resurrection by – holy shit!"

Falk can feel the approaching hiccups. It's too late now. Maybe he deserves it for laughing in his boyfriend's face. It doesn't matter anyway because he can see the hint of a smile in the corners of Matthew's tired eyes.

He's going to need glasses in a few years.

***

They're all together, all five trying to sit in two armchairs, the usual stuff. Falk wouldn't have it any other way. There's beer going on, and Attila is telling something funny (or possibly dirty, maybe both) to the others. Falk decides to let himself zone out.

Falk is torn. On one hand, he's a good boyfriend. He gets Matthew to sleep, he makes dinner, he loves Matthew. He does all kinds of Good Boyfriend Things. On the other hand though, he _really wants to roast the fuck out of Matthew._

There's laughter for some reason, and as Falk looks up, everyone is laughing at him, especially Matthew, and _oh, that settles it you little shit._

He stands up.

Matthew's eyes follow him.

He takes out the slightly torn A4 paper, neatly folded into a square, out of his pocket. He glances at Matthew.

His eyes are wide and he's suddenly very pale. Falk would bet a large sum that he regrets telling whatever embarrassing story he'd just told.

"Guys," Falk starts, demanding everyone's attention with just the one syllable. "Matthew has come up with a great song idea and I would like to share it with you."

There's cheering and applause.

Falk clears his throat and unfolds the paper. "Resurrection by Erection," he starts, and he doesn't even try to carry on because he expects the laughter that follows. He smirks at Matthew while he waits for it to die down, and blows him a tiny kiss. Matthew flips him off.

Falk finishes reading, and there's silence. Matthew is beet red at this point but that's nothing new. Falk counts embarrassing Matthew among his few talents. Then Attila, that glorious bastard, nudges Matthew with his elbow.

"You really needed some rrrrrrresurrection there, huh, buddy?" he asks, his dirty grin making the rolled r even worse. Matthew buries his face in his hands.

"We could actually write this," Charles pipes up suddenly. Everyone looks at him expectantly. He sighs and picks up his guitar – why he keeps it around at all times, Falk will never know – and strums a few chords. He finds a decent melody pretty quickly and Attila jumps in with the singing, just trying to follow Charles. Falk risks a side-glance at Matthew. He's still red, but now he's sitting back and looking at his friends with a little pride in his eyes.

"Yeah," he says, picking up his own guitar as well. "We really could."

***

They're up on stage, skin melting on their bones under the heat of the spotlights, the costumes and the makeup. Attila is in the process of riling up the audience with yet another erection anecdote, as he does. Falk is trying to catch his breath, hands resting on his twin keyboards.

Matthew, standing just in front of Falk's pedestal, looks stunning. _He always does_ , Falk thinks, half-forgotten pain and golden nostalgia twisting his gut. It's been so long without him. They have their own lives now, and they are friends, but Falk can't help but miss curling into Matthew's soft body on long winter nights; all the laughter, all the love they had shared.

Suddenly, without prompting, a quick flash of memory, almost ten years old, surfaces in Falk's mind.

_They're drunk, and Matthew is curled up in his lap, nursing an entire bottle of wine. He's sleepy and mumbling nonsense into Falk's neck and Falk's been thinking_ okay, maybe I should put him to bed now _for the last fifteen minutes. Suddenly, Matthew giggles and pulls back a little._

_"You know what would be really funny?" he slurs, his glossy eyes roaming Falk's face, trying to focus on something. Falk raises an eyebrow instead of asking. Matthew's eyes follow it._

_"Imagine us, ten years from now, and this bullshit song is our biggest hit," Matthew mumbles, trailing off into tired giggling. Falk sighs and takes the bottle from his hands. Matthew moans disappointedly, but Falk picks him up and starts walking toward the bedroom. Matthew switches to purring._

Falk stares down at Matthew. He's shocked a little. Why did he have no memory of that happening before now? And how did Matthew know? It's almost exactly ten years later and Resurrection is still extremely popular. _Maybe Matthew is fucking psychic or whatever_ , Falk contemplates.

There's laughter.

Falk remembers himself and starts his part in the instrumental, trying to get himself back into the swing of the show. It's not the same though. All the familiar notes just bring up new memories, ones he had tried so hard to bury when things had ended between him and Matthew.

He remembers the studio sessions, Matthew not being able to keep a straight face no matter what they were working on. He remembers the first time they had performed it, the audience screaming the lyrics, Matthew grinning at him wildly, mouthing _thank you_ in his direction.

Then he remembers, toward the very end of the song, something he thought he had managed to banish from his thoughts for all eternity. Which apparently isn't the case, as it's just there in his head from one second to another. He can clearly remember standing above Matthew's sleeping form, reading the words "the Devil and the maiden prepare for going wild" in his messy handwriting. He remembers the first time he had laughed because of this clusterfuck of a song.

It's a good memory, even if it hurts.

It hurts because he can oh-so-clearly see Matthew's face, ten years younger than now, rosy from sleep and set in a bleary scowl. It hurts, because he can remember dragging Matthew back into bed, and the way Matthew had kissed him. He remembers the stray thought about Matthew needing glasses.

Falk looks down at Matthew. Even from that distance, and with all that makeup on his face, he can still make out the dents on the bridge of his nose, left there by the glasses he had started to wear a few years ago.

Maybe Falk was foolish to think they would last forever. After all, he had been wrong about lots of things in his life.

But it is definitely nice to know that he was right about the glasses.


End file.
